IZZYISM CAUTION Words Michael “ Izzy” Israelson AT THIS POINT, I have developed a firm list of absolutes— three little wisdoms that serve to guide my writing endeavors. Bad choices make good stories. Never get the surf and turf. Don’t fall prey to catchphrases. It’s number three that has climbed the list as I edge into middle age. My current nemesis? “All the Feels.” I hate it. When someone decides to tell you that they do, in fact, have “All the Feels,” it is always accompanied by a little pat to their heart and a face meant to express the pur-est empathy. This is when I question whosoever is having all these feels. “Which of the feels specifically? Even the bad ones?” “Of course not those feels.” “What about the gross and perverted feels? Are they part of all of your feels too?” “Don’t be a dick.” The individual whose feels I have just challenged is not wrong (though I am proud to have added “strongly irritated” to their collection). But I am also not wrong. Sometimes we speak without thinking. A knee-jerk reaction. A benefit of writing is that we can take time to think about what we say. Nowadays, I have a new verbal antagonist. While it is almost always said with my well-being in mind, it is certainly never uttered by anyone who knows me well. Perhaps this is why it seems like a perpetual insult, like being mothered. The newly detested? “Be careful!” My interpretation is always the same: I don’t trust you. I ques-tion the majority of your decisions. There also remains an element of truth in the preoccupation—maybe another reason that I don’t like hearing it. Faint of heart need not apply. Whistler Blackcomb, BC. Photo: Guy Fattal Last spring, my neighbor sputtered her concern right as I was pointing toward the mountains—a trip to meet like-minded knuckleheads for an early start skiing up some mountain that most would rather skip. I know skiing can be dangerous. But my worst injuries—the knees, the shoulders, the head—have all happened on runs I’ve lapped thousands of times. They say most car accidents happen within five miles of your home. We let our guard down. Contrast that with renting a car in a strange town, a foreign country. You’re on alert from the get-go. Rent a car in Germany and you absolutely don’t want to wreck. For one, the German doctors are going to use words of no fewer than 15 syllables. For another, we’re utterly out of our element, where consequences seem, well, bigger. This is precisely why, when we start climbing and skiing peaks outside of our comfort zones, many of us inherently exercise caution. The unknown not only breeds it, but also expands the mind and the ability to know where our own boundaries lie. Hours after my neighborly cautioning, I emerged from tree line with Le Rouge, Gordo, Whitewater and Pink Stix as the sun crested the ridge. The ascent was firm. Our requisite check of snow conditions and avalanche danger, as well as history on this particular slope, led us to a safe aspect, a safe pitch, a careful line. If we were going to drive the Autobahn, crashing was not an option. I remembered her words, and my immediate reaction, “Yeah well, drive fast, take chances.” It was my attempt to put her comments, and her visage, into my rearview. But that retort lingered in that precious and daring moment, staring down at a field of virgin snow and questioning my own sanity. We ski this terrain not because it is impossible, but because it is a richer experience. I know the snow. I know my gear, the weather, the slope, and that somewhere, several thousand vertical feet below me, a thermos full of coffee and a pair of flip-flops are waiting. The fact that I do recognize the need to BE CAREFUL is precisely why I still trust my judgment. When we become too comfortable skiing the unknown, it might be time to find something else to push our boundaries, to make us think twice. Ultimately, the responsibility is mine. That particular morning, the snow was also mine. The early start served to weed out those who paid more attention to their neighbors and less to their internal Vasco Da Gama. Taking the best care, I pushed off. I turned, I fell, I floated. And only then, freeing myself from the strain of the climb, I recognized what ski journalists find so hard to put into words—a healthy dose of All the Feels. 028 The Ski Journal
The Ski Journal Volume 15, Issue 1: Page 28
